#˗ ˋ 📖 viktoriya passerine ﹕ THE NIGHTINGALE SONGSTRESS !

[heldvisionsarch]

BLOCK / vic and raphita

the sounds of blades clashing together reverberates off the walls, and the spymaster smirks. " excellent work. you're beginning to understand the intermediate skills. " viktoriya, the nightingale- steps back, allowing rapha's momentum to stumble them forwards, past the spymaster. " our next area of focus is redirection and sleight of hand. " she shieths her sword with a flourish. " a knightly way of fighting may be more chivalrous, but playing dirty does have its advantages. "

sparring. @shonde

[heldvisionsarch]

“ i was born under a lucky star. perhaps the gods have blessed me with so many wonderful people. ” you laugh, as you look at the tea leaves. in fontaine, some people use cards to divine the future- but you hardly understood any of it. “ like you- for example. ”

decima’s hands, like yours, are calloused. they are not the soft hands of idle nobility, of rich fools with sliver spoons- the hands of people who worked hard, who strove to prove themselves. despite the fact that your nails were so very carefully painted- the raised scars on the back of your hands, and the cracked skin around your finger tips and palms prove only that you have worked hard to establish yourself. ( yes, even the unwanted girl of mondstadt could find gentle contentment in her heart. )

you laugh quietly at a joke only you’d understand. “ do my leaves say anything else about my future ? ” you lift one of decima’s hand up and kiss their palm. “ inquisitive minds must know, darling. ”

@heldvisions

" you know, " a pause. you stared into the cup before you, your lips twitching into a slight smile. " the way these leaves form - they signify good intentions around you. and with the abundance of them - " you set the cup down, before taking vik's hands into your own, thumbs brushing across her knuckles softly. " it means there's many people around looking out for you. "

[heldvisionsarch]

i’ll write my own happy ending. i beg for this to not end in tragedy. / raphita to vik

you are a storyteller- you weave together leaden tragedies and golden victories with your silver tongue. " my darling, don't fret- you as the night, are still young; with time for the ending of your tale to change and twist- " you smile assuredly at them. " but-i will pray that your ending one of glorious triumph and not of bitter tears. just in case."

in the tags. @shonde

[heldvisionsarch]

vik calls u babygirl wdyd.

[heldvisionsarch]

in love with her so much

[heldvisionsarch]

“ i’d beg to differ, but begging definitely disagrees with me!~ ” viktoriya closes the gap between them easily, and her hand reaches out- plucking the longer red strand of hair that frames his face, twirling it around her index finger. her cold tone has shifted into something . . . teasing, taunting. “ it just seems like everywhere i go, you seem to show up shortly thereafter. ”

“ oh? venti recommend me personally ? ” a tilt of the head, and a hum. “ i see. then. i suppose being given a prime spot on a silver platter by a colleague is something i can’t quite pass up, darling. ” she lets the red lock go free from around her finger, and brushes an out of place pink lock back over her shoulder, letting diluc get a whiff of her custom perfume. ( roses, lillies, amber, wood smoke- what do those scents mean to the songstress? her painted lips were sealed. ) “ then i suppose you’ll be seeing more of me this evening, darling. though, i bet you probably count the minutes until i grace your presence once more, fufufufu~ ”

A brief furrow of the brow appears on Diluc’s expression before he smoothes out his expression, sighing carefully. “Existing in the same space as you, Miss Passerine, does not count as chasing…” he comments, folding arms over his chest, sparing himself from the entire conversation as to whether or not her looks and voice were enthralling. They are - objectively - but he’s not opening that can of worms.

“As it happens, Venti has decided to abandon the stage for tonight and insisted I offer you first chance at taking his place…” Something about following the call of the wind that he is not about to delve into. “Do forgive the intrusion on your incredibly busy day.”

[heldvisionsarch]

❛   hunger .   give  my  muse  something  to  eat  /  drink . [ diluc to vik ]

it is a beautiful afternoon, and bianka adler is roaming the cobbled streets, loyal doll companion in hand one hand, and empty mora sack in the other.

her parents, once more- are already drinking away the paltry allowance they had swore on barbato's lyre they'd give to her- even though she hadn't counted on them giving her any mora, she also hadn't expected them to take her own small, hidden stash of hard earned coin as well.

it'd be a hungry night if she can't get any mora, and even the city itself seems to be taunting her- especially as she comes to a standstill in front of the bakery. her mouth waters, as she stares blankly at the breads and pastries in the window, wishing, wanting.

the baker's wife drives her away from the window after a few minutes- and the older woman sneers, tells her to come back when she's a paying customer. as bianka is chased away- she catches a glimpse of familiar ominous red hair leaving the shop, and decides to run faster.

bianka easily navigates the city, weaving in and out of the alleyways, and sidepaths- and she finally arrives bring her to her favorite fountain- out of the city watch's patrol path- and out of the way in general and nestled in the wealthiest neighborhood in mondstadt.

she can't hop into the fountain with too much vigor, it makes her head dizzy. but she splashes in the cool water, plucking the glittering mora from the bottom of the pool and putting it away in her coinpurse, the accumulated grime of living in a treasure hoarder camp running off into the water and swirling around her, cleaning her.

once's she's completely cleaned the fountain of coin, she lays on her back floating in the shallow water- she sings a song, half remembered from sneaking in and sitting in on the services at church. that voice- unskilled and untrained, but with overwhelming potential, echoes off the cobblestones and walls like a birdsong- and her eyes closed, obliviously immersed in the simple notes she sang.

at least, until someone blocks her sunlight. the song dies on her lips as she opens her eyes to see the unwelcome face looming over her.

diluc ragvindr is a bully, in bianka's jaded view. too cowardly to stop the gaggle of wealthy children who suck up to him and his family to curry favor with one of the most influential clan in mondstadt- easily pushed into acting in cruelty, and now he's staring down at her with those owlish red eyes, and she sits up- dress sopping wet, and pink hair clinging to bianka's face.

her stomach growls, loud enough to be heard over the burbling fountain. they keep look at each other. she rises ot her feet, hands curled into a ball, ready to defend herself- and diluc walks a few paces back from bianka, setting a plate of . . . well it appears to be a poorly put together pile 'em up. it looks like it's coming apart, though.

bianka climbs out of the fountain, and a man's voice calls for diluc- and diluc scrambles away from her- leaving behind an untouched plate of food.

once she picks up the plate, it hits her- it smells ... incredible. it's still warm, even. bianka weighs the pros and cons of eating it, and decides to roll the dice on the plate of hot food, ripping into and wolfing it down like a man possessed. it tastes decidedly far, far better than it looked.

she returns the plate well after the moon has risen and many have gone to bed- practically spotless to a servant's side door of the ragdvindr's city home, pounding three times on the heavy knocker, before dashing away as quickly as she could.

less than a few months after that incident, bianka adler would vanish from mondstadt without a trace, and a young lady named viktoriya passerine would begin the basics of opera training in fontaine- the incident of diluc and his attempt at an pile 'em up forgotten in the songstress's mind, with more of the painful memories remaining.

@resolutepath loud and deafening silence.

[heldvisionsarch]

oc birthdays. because i keep forgetting.

beaulieu siblings

ariane, december 12th jason, march 2nd andromache, april 22nd selene, feb 21st

rhiannon stellaro, oct 22nd.

salem mocchain, june 7th.

yukimura emi, august 30th.

iwakura yuko, april 4th.

imogen drosselmeier, may 1st.

viktoriya passerine, march 1st.

alaia d’aramitz, dec 24th.

[heldvisionsarch]

vik can you tell father to shut the fuck up for me he told me to stop swearing

i’ll see what i can do for you.

[heldvisionsarch]

“ i take it you’re a traveler as well, then ? ” legs cross, and viktoriya leans forwards, sweet smile and gently prodding words rolling from her lips like smoke and honey. “ i’m a traveling songstress, so i want to write down every story i come across, especially if they’re interesting. ”

her honey colored eyes glitter, her smile full of mysterious promise, and an excited look in her expression. “ and you, darling, are the most interesting person i’ve rested my eyes on- so tell me, handsome stranger, what’s your story ? ”

@azurescaled​ oc starter call !

[heldvisionsarch]

“ normalize poisoning people who piss you off. except for me. i have an immunity to many poisons, and a high resistance to all poisons. it’s a waste of time. ”

[heldvisionsarch]

"You're quiet tonight. You've missed at least three opportunities to insult me." Despite the chosen wording, there is perhaps an element of concern there. Or at least a curiosity as to why things have deviated from the norm. There's something to be said for the comfort of the predictable or the familiar. Instead of prying further, he places a glass in front of her and pours dandelion wine into it, quietly pushing it forth. He'll keep the question about her troubles on his tongue for he doubts it'll be welcome. [blorbo 1]

viktoriya snatches the wine with her swift grace, acccented by golden eyes rolling at diluc’s comment. she downs half of the wine- the taste of alcohol sharp and floral on her tongue. she leaves a red lipstick stain on the glass, as she sets the half empty cup down.

“ i didn’t know you were so very eager for my tongue lashings, darling. ” a somewhat flat response. “ perhaps i’m in one of those melancholic moods- we artists are prone to such things, after all. ” small smirk appears. “ or maybe, i’m tired. or maybe,” she leans forwards, twirling a pink lock around her index finger, all melodrama. “ i’m bored of you. ” she stares at diluc’s face- unwavering from his gaze.

                                   yes, golds and reds are both the colors of flame.

she laughs at him, at his expression, as she takes another sip and toasts him with her glass. “ no, no, don’t worry yourself, darling. i haven’t tired of you- yet, we haven’t finished having our fun. ” her voice takes on a slightly suggestive tone- and she leans up and forwards ; shooting a long, graceful arm towards him, then letting her fingers lightly trailing down his ( begrudgingly impressively muscular ) forearm and over his hand, emphasizing her impressive bust to him a little more than was necessary, before sitting back on her stool properly, victoriously smug at the expression on his face.

                                                                    another petty victory.

tonight, she’s leaning hard on being viktoriya, on being the nightingale- to cover the vulnerability that felt like it was making her ill. her mind replaces the incident of her crossing paths between her birth mother and herself, and their own clash in the wilds. ( she is trying so hard not to be bianka, right now. and she’s loosing the battle. )  maybe she just needs to go cool off. she’s been so heated lately.

 “ you see, i have granted you a reprieve for the evening. you should be grateful for my kindness and understanding. ” she’s not answering the question directly. the pain and grief of bianka adler stays private, safely locked away from the world. “ i have excellent news- my hand should be completely healed by next week- so i’ll be back to preform at my full talents. unless that tiny and adorable cat’s tail bartender gives me a more lucrative offer than you~ isn’t that exciting, darling diluc ? ”

@resolutepath

[heldvisionsarch]

i suppose it’s pointless to think of you at all . vik & deelook

“ in lord barbato's blessed and revered name- i’m going to glass you. ” her normally honeyed smile, is barely there and gritted from pain of her still healing injuries. viktoriya’s arm is tied into a bandaged sling. and she’s sitting awkwardly- the result of her last run-in with the wine tycoon.

she takes a sip of her spiced wine- and imagines the threat acting out in her minds eye- knocking back the rest of it and slamming the emptied flute onto the table, satisfied with that mental image. . . . for the moment.

her face takes on a sharp scowl. “ why did you come out of your way to bother me ? do you need another tongue lashing, master diluc ? if not- go fetch me another a cup of spiced wine. ” she flings a handful of mora at him. “ after all, at least one of us should be doing our jobs this evening, no ? ”

@resolutepath monologue at 3 am.

[heldvisionsarch]

[ BLOCK ]:    sender blocks an on-coming attack from the receiver. [ vik & deelook ]

the clang of metal causes sparks to fly. (  it’s like a symphony to the nightingale’s ears, ringing and beautiful and discordant. ) viktoriya is outclassed by the person crowned the dark-knight hero, but only in brute strength alone. he seems to keep up with the nightingale’s attacks- and viktoriya understands that he’d be able to outclass her if they continue to spar in this stagnant duel.

“ master ragdvindr- most consider it quite rude to attack a lady. ” viktoriya sneers, then disappears into her cloak of flame- appearing behind him and casting her enflamed ghost ; only to disappear once more. and she rises out of the crackling glame like a phoenix from it’s ashes, raising her sword to slash him across his front- if only to make a clean getaway.

                                               CLANK.

diluc had seen through her taunts and trickery. he had caught her sword in the slit of the of his claymore- not only blocking her- but also effectively trapping her, and she could she the smug look in his eyes, and the world felt aflame.

and after everything. that was her breaking point- the years of resentment and anger bubbling over, the weight of the girl she used too heavy for her to bear. the sword drops from her hand, and she bolts forwards- closing the small distance and grabbing a fistful of red hair and yanking on it- slamming her forehead against his. “ is all the humiliation you put me through not enough for your entitled ass ?! ” her voice, not longer sultry or condescending- but openly angry and wounded. ( in this moment- she is not viktoriya- she is bianka. ) “ was all the times you had your stupid servants chase me away for wanting scraps, the way you looked down on me, the way you and your friends threw rocks and laughed at me- WASN’T THAT FUCKING ENOUGH FOR YOU ? ” she pulls on his hair again- wild eyed and uncomposed. “ do you assume that you are simply entitled to the common folk ? that your family name means you can simply do whatever you want- without any consequences ?! haven’t you fucking grown up yet ?! ”

sparring prompts. @resolutepath​.

[heldvisionsarch]

she’s sooooo *mwah*

[heldvisionsarch]

!! ur turn for deelook & vik

“ the uncrowned king of mondstadt. the richest man in tevyat, the most elligable bachleor in mondstad, and a very powerful man in the city. gifted and talented- blessed by the archons themselves with business sense and combat prowess, and an important pillar in the community- a position he inheirted from his father and family name. ” viktoriya rolls her eyes. “ people, regardless of gender- wish to be at the center of his affections, and for his wealth and power. ” a cold grin touches her lips, voice wry with a sarcastic amusment. “ it’s said that he always maintains a professional attitude regardless of personage, and that he’s had impeccable manners and empathy towards others. ”

“ i will not deny that he is handsome, that he is skilled. and that his drinks are amazing. he is well learnt, well spoken, and from what i hear from others; a fairly decent conversationalist. ”

“ but my experiences with him are . . . different. ” the songstress’s voice softens. in this moment, she is not viktoriya, she is bianka. “ as a child, our worlds were very, very different- i only remember him as a bully, a standout face in a crowd of privileged fools who chased me away with words, sticks and rocks. who saw me only as an urchin wretch, and punished me for my crime of existence to parents who couldn’t care less. ” time has distorted these memories, but there’s always that long red hair.

“ on one hand- i do respect him to an extent. his devotion to mondstadt, to our city, to his family legacy. his protection of our beloved city is almost on par as a certain sister of the church. ” her gaze grows distant, glazed over with memories. “ but on the other hand, i despise him. i despise the cruetly he showed towards me as a child. i resent his privileged and cushioned upbringing. i resent his nepotism, and that he has never worried for money, for housing. that everything was handed to him with a golden spoon, while i clawed my way to the top. ” a sigh. “ we work in similar circles, information and protection. we have many informants in common, even. but any good trait, is outweighed by the cruelty. and one i day- i might find it in my heart to forgive him ; maybe he was just going along with the crowd, maybe he truly is the man people make him out to be. but until he proves himself to me, until i can properly pass judgment on him : he is a rich bully, with more money than common sense, and that will always color my view of him. ”

and from the muse’s perspective. @resolutepath‘s diluc.